The perpetually low-key MC on coming to terms with his awkwardness, why he's not rapping on a fair share of his own album, and the beauty of low expectations.

Earl Sweatshirt needs to step his bars up. To clarify, I’m not questioning his rap skills, just his wireless provider—the rapper's apartment has the kind of cell phone reception that is utterly inexcusable for someone living in Los Angeles—or anywhere outside of, say, Samoa—in 2013.

One possible explanation for the ten dropped calls that spike our conversation is that Earl still doesn’t trust the motives of people trying to interview him and is doing everything in his power to make this as difficult as possible. After all, every mention of the rapper prior to the release of his major label bow Doris seemed to up the ante in relating stories about the impossibility of getting ahold of him; then there’s Doris itself, one of the most insular and pop-averse hip-hop records to ever end up in the Billboard Top 5. Plus, every time we reconnect, I hear an errant, blaring keyboard on the other end—the type you’d probably hear on one of his records. I begin to think I’m going to end up being played for laughs on an upcoming Odd Future skit.

While his rapping is deliberate, dexterous, verbose, and multilayered, when asked the most basic of questions, Earl can be, well, like any 19-year-old: monosyllabic, terse, distant, and flippant. He really can’t believe you’re asking him this shit sometimes. And it just so happens that I’m in the right spot to remember what I’m dealing with.

It’s the first week of fall semester at a suburban college campus in California where I teach SAT classes, and I’m surrounded by literally thousands of examples of what a 19-year-old looks like when freed from the bondage of high school and parental supervision—headphones on, rapping to themselves, making sure you notice the size of their crew and affiliation, skateboarding without much regard for those around them, extremely perturbed at being awake before noon. Undoubtedly, this is Earl Sweatshirt’s fanbase—some of them are probably listening to Doris as we’re talking.

"I'm a weirdo, but I have a very strong moral code."

Pitchfork: Do you often think about how people your age look up to you or even see you as a role model?

Earl Sweatshirt: That shit's crazy. I don't think it's necessarily good or bad, it's just that I'm more relatable for a certain group of people—I know more about ramen than fucking Big Sean and Juicy J. For someone's who's in college or is around this age range, I feel like I'm more of an accessible idea because I’m fucking just as awkward as the next nigga. But I've been awkward forever. I have really low expectations for myself. When I do perform to some sort of social standard, I leave feeling really comfortable. I'm either so awkward that I look retarded or I'm so awkward that everyone else feels retarded.

Pitchfork: On “Burgundy”, you say no one wants to hear you rap about your feelings. With the positive response to Doris and more personal material like "Chum" in particular, do you feel that's still true?

ES: No, that was for that song. Even if my specific situation isn't similar to most people's, you relate to shit when you can hear that it's a genuine expression of where that person's at. That's why I fuck with Gucci Mane or Gunplay—I don't live the same life as neither one of those niggas, but it's some shit that you can hear in their voice. It’s not even emotional—you can just tell when someone's being really honest.

Pitchfork: When you were putting this record together, how many meetings did the executives at Columbia call to figure out the direction you were going?

ES: Zero. I didn't fucking meet on direction for anything ever. But as far as meetings go, there were a lot. [I’d be] really vague, kind of pissing everyone off. But they’re not showing how pissed off they actually are. It fucking worked. They're some good people over there. I got to put out the record I wanted to put out.

Pitchfork: Doris debuted at No. 5 on the Billboard 200, right in between John Mayer and A$AP Ferg. If you're being honest, did you expect higher or lower?

ES: Lower. I set my expectations really low so that way I'm impressed by everything.

Pitchfork: Now that the album is done, what's your day-to-day like?

ES: I just got home. We were in Europe, it was fucking sick because I met DOOM and King Krule [aka Archy Marshall]. Hanging out with Archy was so tight because [we’re the same age] and we're on the exact same shit: He doesn't really like anyone. He likes weed.

Pitchfork: The hook on “Sunday” mentions that you stopped smoking weed, how long did you go without?

ES: A long-ass time, when I got pneumonia. I kind of just started smoking weed again.

Pitchfork: How's that been?

ES: Great!

Pitchfork: You claim that you’re only “relatively famous” on “Sunday”. What does famous mean to you?

ES: Yeah, I know. Eminem is famous as fuck. That's what matters, dude. Everyone else doesn't matter. Kanye is also famous. So is Jay Z.

Pitchfork: What is your ideal level of fame at this moment?

ES: I am fucking chilling right now. I'm not turning down anything but I'm not actually going out for shit. It's just whatever happens happens.

Pitchfork: Are there any lessons you’ve learned from Tyler, the Creator and the way he’s handled his solo career?

ES: He did everything the way he wanted to do it. To be real, Ty’s fucking killing it. The only thing that was a hiccup with this shit is the word "faggot." We have a different meaning for that word. It sounds ridiculous trying to explain that to people, so there's no point. I'd rather just avoid it because in an ideal world you'd be able to say that and someone would listen to you, but that's not the case.

Pitchfork: There are very few typical choruses or hooks on Doris. Is that just something you don't like to do?

ES: No, I actually love hooks. It wasn't a conscious decision, that's just how it came out.

Pitchfork: Who's a good hook-writer in your mind?

ES: Really Doe. That [Kanye West] song "We Major" is one of the best hooks of all time. It changed my perception of hooks.

Pitchfork: A lot of people have mentioned how Doris feels longer than 44 minutes because the lyrics are so dense. How many drafts do your lyrics go through before they’re done?

ES: I don't really fuck with rewriting, I never have. I love doing shit in a straight shot because I'm really impatient.

Pitchfork: You're not the first guy we hear rapping on most of the songs on the album, too. Was that a conscious decision?

ES: I think it's because I'm spoiled. Early on, I was always going second, and the second verse is always very heavy. If you got a weak second verse, then nobody's gonna listen to your shit—they're just gonna let that first verse go and change the song. So if you got a strong second verse, then you've got to listen to the whole song.

Pitchfork: Did you intend to cede the spotlight a little on Doris, even though it’s your major-label debut?

ES: You know, I directed my album. I like albums like Chronic 2001 or Kanye albums where they didn't necessarily rap over the whole thing, but it's still their album and it's fucking tight.

Pitchfork: In your opinion, who had the best verse on Doris?

ES: It's actually a toss-up because Domo [Genesis]'s "20 Wave Caps" verse was fucking ridiculous. Vince [Staples] on "Hive" was ridiculous. My second verse on "Centurion" is fucking crazy. And Mac [Miller] fucking killed it on "Guild". And Tyler's verse on "Sasquatch". And then Frank [Ocean]'s verse on "Sunday". Frank used to have a verse on "Pre" but then he took it off. It's probably the rarest verse of all time. That shit is crazy! The world will never know what that song could've been.

Pitchfork: With the mentions of your father’s poetry, Gil Scott-Heron, and 2Pac on Doris, do you see yourself as being in that sort of poet/rapper lineage?

ES: No.

Pitchfork: What do you admire about Gil and Pac?

ES: That's the shit that I was given as a child. Keeping Gil Scott-Heron in mind while doing shit is real tight. It doesn't seem like something that could lead you in a bad direction unless, like, you smoke crack.

Pitchfork: Do you consider yourself to be someone with a strong moral code?

ES: I'm a weirdo, but I have a very strong moral code. My morals are mostly: Don't be a fucking dick.